


ignition

by tagteamme



Series: tagteamme's niche sports AUs [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Car Sex, Getting Together, M/M, Porn With Plot, but barely so, what's the name of the trope when one's a hot shot rookie and one's a hot shot seasoned player
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 16:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20933093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagteamme/pseuds/tagteamme
Summary: Keith didn't expect to make it to Nationals, let alone sleep with the reigning champion.





	ignition

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: the title is NOT from the song by r k*lly, fuck that dude 
> 
> for my wonderful darling [ ser ](https://twitter.com/crushmeshiro)

It’s a miracle Keith’s in one piece, for a multitude of reasons. 

“You okay, baby?” Shiro murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of Keith’s thigh. This is one of the reasons. This possibly might be all of the reasons.

Keith blinks and no, he’s very much not okay. He’s not even sure if he’s not just dreaming the brilliant white head of hair nestled between his thighs. He nods faintly and Shiro grins as he adjusts himself and takes Keith in hand again, flicking his tongue out. 

Shiro’s mouth is deadly— he’s been teasing Keith non stop, first when they were in the pit this morning, then in between the rounds of press interviews they had to do, and right before Keith won the championship rally of his division. It wasn’t till the last one that Keith found out what kind of intent Shiro had. 

Keith’s toes curl in tandem with Shiro’s tongue and he remembers Shiro’s promise ten minutes ago that this isn’t all he’s going to do to Keith. 

“Fu-_ uh _-uck—“ Keith’s head tips back and hits the leather of the back seat. This isn’t the most ideal position. Keith on his back with his lower half curved up, legs thrown over Shiro’s shoulders while Shiro leans forward on his knees, taking Keith into his mouth just enough times to drive him mad. But the view is ridiculous, much like everything else that’s happened in the past day. 

Keith was surprised he made it to Nationals to begin with. There’s a small part of him that still thinks he’s dreaming, that there’s no way he had made it all the way to Vegas, let alone _ won _ Juniors.

At this competition, there’s more people in the press room then there are in his home town at any given moment. Keith’s been labeled a mysterious hot contender, part because he never takes his helmet off even after the round is done and he’s hopping out of his vehicle. He’s given entire conferences with the face shield flipped up just enough for the mic to hear his voice clearly. Up until this day, not a lot of people watching the Nationals knew what his face looked like.

Of course, Shiro was the exception.

Shiro reaches down to cup Keith’s ass and push up so that he can take Keith all the way into his mouth. Shiro’s massive bicep flexes in the dull warehouse light that pours in through the window of the truck, and Keith catches the faint glint of his prosthetic before Shiro hollows his cheeks, causing Keith to bite his knuckles before he gets too loud. He pushes Keith’s shirt up with his free hand spans a large palm across his ribcage. 

The touch is warm and calloused and Shiro traces the dips of Keith’s ribs as he draws back up halfway. Keith shivers and Shiro closes his eyes as he sucks him down again with a groan that vibrates through Keith’s entire being.

This is Keith’s reward for winning the Juniors, for being the most talented rookie out there. Keith’s gotten a whole slew of sponsorships from companies that would normally not even look his way, as well as a healthy amount of coverage from the media that’s eager to know how this small town boy made it so big. The attention pales in comparison to the type that Shiro’s given him, from the moment they first met. 

The meeting had been less than ideal. Keith’s not actually into being mysterious— there’s a weird strap in his helmet that makes it hard to get off without the help of a second person. It’s a helmet that’s ordered bulk off the internet and has been plastered with stickers of skulls and motorcycles and energy drink logos to hide the fact that it meets absolutely no safety standard set by anyone. It’s just easier to wait till the end of the rally and press junkets to take it off, even though he’s got near permanent helmet hair now. The helmet has melded into the persona he puts on during competitions. 

It’s also incredibly uncomfortable to wear sometimes. Keith had been in a locker room at an exhibition show just outside of Salt Lake City, none of his pit crew there to take his helmet off. He had been feeling extremely dehydrated and the heat building up didn’t help— even Hunk, both college roommate and eager hype-man, was nowhere to be seen and Keith was feeling too worn down to get up.

He had been struggling with the helmet when there was a soft _ “hey buddy, you okay?” _from a distance. Keith grunted and readily accepted the help of whoever placed their large and rough hands under his helmet and helped him undo the god forsaken strap. 

And of course, given Keith’s luck, the moment he was freed from the helmet he found himself staring up at the driver of the legendary Bone Cruncher, one extremely tall and extremely buff Takashi Shirogane. Shiro had won so many championships, both on a national and international level, he’s long-earned the nickname “the Champion”, making the general public acutely aware that all creativity in the sport was saved for naming the trucks.

“Woah,” Shiro had said, and the memory of his mouth slightly parting is permanently burned into Keith’s brain. 

“Huh?” Keith had replied with equal intelligence. His hair was matted, his face flushed, and he was sure that in general he smelled worse than an old gym bag. Yet for some reason, all of this drew Shiro in enough for him to stick out his hand and introduce himself. As if Shiro wasn’t the most well known drivers in the sport.

“I’ve never seen you without your helmet on,” Shiro had held on to Keith’s hand as he shook it. Keith tried to focus on the barbed wire tattoo on Shiro’s left bicep instead of his ridiculously handsome face but it was hard, especially when it was clear that the metal hand curled around his had no intention of letting go.

Keith managed to fuse his neural pathways long enough to blurt out a, _ “you’ve been watching me?” _ and Shiro’s grip on his hand had tightened.

It still spins Keith’s head to know that he’s now friends - no, not friends, definitely something _ more _ \- with one of the most legendary figures to ever set foot in a monster truck. Once or twice an online article has compared Keith’s current run as a rookie to Shiro’s when he first started, and those articles have been saved and printed and stored in a shoebox under his bed. 

Shiro’s mowed down his competition with a quick and efficient ruthlessness that leaves little room for niceties. He’s been on the circuit non-stop since he was sixteen, competing through his undergraduate and through his post-graduate, even after a freak accident at an exhibition rally that lead to Shiro acquiring his robotic arm, the one he’s lovingly dubbed the “Spine Snapper” in the press. 

“Hey,” Shiro presses a wet kiss to the junction of Keith’s leg. It brings Keith sharply back to the present, especially when Shiro sighs enough for Keith to feel his warm breath all over him. “You still with me?”

Keith doesn’t reply for a moment and Shiro grazes his teeth over Keith’s inner thigh, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.

“Yeah,” Keith says on the exhale and Shiro gives him a soft smile. “Just a little…”

He trails off, unable to tear his eyes away from Shiro. It’s kind of overwhelming to be here and to be on the receiving end of Shiro’s uninterrupted desire. It’s also kind of cramped in the back of Shiro’s truck but Keith likes the fact that they’re at least twelve feet in the air.

Keith’s praying that no one catches them, especially because he’s ready to go full throttle with Shiro as soon as he gets the green light.

“We don’t need to do this,” Shiro says and Keith feels warm at that. “We could stick with our original dinner plans.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at that, and the corners of Shiro’s mouth tug up. “...Or we could take it back to my hotel room.”

They could, but Keith is so keyed up he doesn’t think he’ll be able to make himself presentable enough for the ten minute walk between the warehouse for the trucks and Shiro’s hotel.

“I’m good,” Keith knocks the heel of his foot against Shiro’s back to emphasize his point. His jeans are still dangling off one leg but there’s not enough space to take them fully off.

Shiro shakes his head with a grin and much to Keith’s disappointment, he shrugs off Keith’s legs. They fall off Shiro’s shoulders and wanting to waste no time, Keith immediately wraps them around Shiro’s trim waist. He barely has to tug on Shiro to get the man to lean down and kiss Keith, eager and dirty.

Keith quickly finds himself thankful for the lack of space because it gets Shiro to press his big body down in a hard line against Keith’s front as he slides his tongue into Keith’s mouth. There’s a soft _ clink _ of a belt and Keith immediately reaches down to help, pushing on the waistband of Shiro’s jeans. Shiro’s boxers follow and somehow they get enough room for Shiro to tug on Keith’s hips and pull them together.

The first roll of Shiro’s hips against his gets Keith moaning into the kiss, a lot louder than he’d like. The skin on skin contact is almost too much and Keith has to scrunch his eyes shut to re-center himself. Shiro starts to press a trail of soft kisses along Keith’s jaw, trailing down his neck.

“Focus on me,” Shiro murmurs against flushed skin and Keith’s never felt his blood thrumming in his veins like this before. Keith has done nothing but focus on Shiro. 

It had started in the locker room in Salt Lake, with Keith sputtering out an offer for lunch as a way to thank Shiro and buy his secrecy. Shiro had spent most of their time in the greasy diner asking Keith about how he got into driving monster trucks, where he’s competed before, what his plans were for Nationals. Shiro had been watching the junior round in the exhibition closely and had said with no embarrassment that Keith’s run had caught his attention by large. 

Keith had told him that there was a slim chance that he’d make it to Nationals and Shiro had laughed at Keith like he had told the world’s funniest joke. They had exchanged numbers and a month later, when Keith annihilated his competition at the California State Rookie Jam, Shiro had just texted him with a simple _ told you so _.

Keith had to work hard to hide the fact that he’s been following Shiro’s career closely, even when he was just a shithead teenager taking a twenty year old modded F-250 down the hills on his parents’ ranch. But any sort of hero-worship he had for Shiro as a monster truck driver has melted into admiration for who he is as a person. The infatuation though, has stayed the same.

Maybe now, with the way that Shiro looks at him as Keith reaches down for his discarded jacket and pulls out a few wrappers, that infatuation has intensified. Shiro dips his head down so that he can whisper into Keith’s ear and ask him if he wants to fuck or be fucked. The question is dizzying and hungry with possibility but in the moment, there’s nothing Keith wants more than for Shiro to push his legs apart and thoroughly reward him.

He voices as much to Shiro and the glint in Shiro’s eyes turns wicked. Shiro rolls his hips forward again while he nips at Keith’s lower lip, sucking it in between his teeth. It takes all of Keith’s Herculean will power to push Shiro off of him. 

Shiro falls back against the seat and Keith follows eagerly, swinging a leg over Shiro’s lap as he tears open one of the packets with his teeth.

The kiss that follows is biting and possessive and Shiro’s grip on Keith becomes bruising as Keith reaches behind. Keith’s a liar if that doesn’t turn him on just as much as taking it slow and curious does.

Shiro’s rough and cocky in front of the media and a teddy bear in person and both of these personas sends arousal ping-ponging through Keith so hard sometimes that he thinks he’s going to pass out. It’s a mix of watching Shiro act like hot shit in front of the camera and hearing Shiro praise him after a particularly difficult round that’s made Keith feel like he’s fifteen again with a big fat crush on the most popular guy in class.

And like when he was fifteen, Keith legitimately thought that he didn’t have much of a chance. Shiro’s immeasurably cool with his unique hair, his collection of leather jackets, and the _ BONE CRUNCHER _ tattooed across his back in large gothic font. Keith just has a violently red truck that he loves and a single, jagged letter stamped on the nape of his neck to honour the first company to legitimately sponsor him. 

A letter that Shiro’s currently sucking a mark onto as Keith grips the headrest in front of him hard enough that he thinks the leather’s going to crack. Shiro’s turned him around in the seat to get a better angle as he eases in and Keith tries to control his breathing while he adjusts. 

This, he thinks, could have been saved for the hotel, but Shiro brings him down just a little more and that train of thought quickly dissipates. 

Shiro swears and lets out a guttural groan as Keith shifts his hips and tries to rock back onto his lap. His knees are planted on either side of Shiro’s unfairly thick thighs and they’re already trembling.

“Fuck.” Shiro says, barely moving his lips off of Keith’s neck. “We gotta take it slow, I’m not gonna last otherwise.”

“We’ll take it slow later,” Keith mumbles and that earns him a sharp nip. He can’t believe that four weeks ago, he was staring down at his phone, wondering if Shiro would want to hang out at all during the Nationals. Keith had bitten the bullet and sent Shiro a text, asking him if he wanted to meet up during one of the nights in Vegas. 

The response was immediate. Shiro had asked him if he wanted to hang out on the night after the kickoff rally. Shiro wanted to check out the Strip but promised Keith they wouldn’t get too wild, both of them competing the next day.

True to his word, Shiro had instead made Keith take multiple pictures of him flexing in a white muscle tee, standing in front of the fountains at the Bellagio. He had also forced Keith into letting him pay for the steak dinner they had as well, telling Keith it was a reward for absolutely wrecking his competition during the day. Keith had turned red around his ears and stuffed his face with mashed potatoes to avoid blurting out something stupid, and dinner had become a regular thing after that. 

Keith tried not to think too much of it, and told himself he was imagining things when Shiro’s gaze lingered for a few seconds or when he kept his hand planted firmly against Keith’s back as they strolled lazily through the aquarium or walked down the strip. Told himself Shiro would give anyone a very hands-on lesson in swinging a club when they went mini-golfing.

Told himself Shiro was this genuinely sweet on everybody, gave unusually long hugs goodbye to everyone, and that Keith wasn’t the only one who was getting his head cupped as Shiro stared into his eyes and told him he was really happy Keith spent time with him that night. 

Retrospectively, Keith should have clued in on the fact that for the past three weeks, almost every other night was spent hanging out with Shiro at Shiro’s behest. Keith attended every single round of Shiro’s that he could, blending in with the cheering crowd as Shiro ripped through the dirt in his seven ton beast and Shiro had done the same for him. Keith should have known the energy and hoarse, low voice with which Shiro would recount how fucking _ fantastic _ it was to watch Keith was a hint at something.

The same voice that’s now showering praise on Keith as they set a torturously slow pace. There’s something about Shiro that makes Keith want to be consumed almost immediately. Maybe it’s the way his hand wraps around Keith’s throat like it’s nothing as he thrusts up into him. Maybe it’s the way that Shiro makes small noises behind him, sounding as affected as Keith. 

Keith thinks he’s adjusted enough now to egg Shiro on a little. He fights against Shiro’s grip to sit down a little harder and the pleasure-pain-pleasure that rings through him has him keening. Both Shiro and Keith try to control the pace but Keith’s determined to win. He plants his palm flat against the back of the seat in front of him and uses it as leverage to rock his hips against Shiro. Shiro makes a strangled noise and both of his hands fall to the side.

It’s a victory and Keith tries not to crow as he starts to set the pace, thighs straining with the effort. Shiro moans from behind him, says his name in a low and gravelly voice and Keith lets out a sigh through his nose. He’s still got the adrenaline of the day running through him and Keith knows it’s going to take a _ lot _ to work it out.

Keith doesn’t regret being oblivious. Some part of him knows it might have had a bit of a hand in helping him win.

The pent up energy that came with being more and more attracted to his new friend by the day led to Keith pulling off some truly spectacular moves in the arena. Some of them were so daring that they impressed even the stoic and frankly terrifying woman who was the president of the organization.

What won him the competition was the most daring move he had pulled out in the final round. Before he hopped into the truck, Shiro had pulled Keith aside to give him a hug that lasted well past a minute.

“I believe in you,” Shiro had told Keith, but Keith had only caught the muffled dregs of it. He flipped open his visor and had asked Shiro to repeat himself.

“I said, you better kick ass,” Shiro had said instead and Keith gave him a crooked grin in return. Shiro flipped Keith’s visor down for him and had pressed a firm kiss to the top of Keith’s helmet. He squeezed Keith’s shoulder before rubbing it, and then let Keith go.

Keith’s extremely focused when it comes to the competition. But by the time the countdown for the last ten seconds of his freestyle had started, the kiss had repeated in his head at least half a dozen times. Keith poured all that energy into hitting the brakes right at the right time and doing a full front-flip in a six ton truck off the ramp, just as the buzzer blared. The crowd had gone absolutely _ bonkers _ and Keith could barely believe what he had just done.

The cheer as Keith had gotten crowned the champion of the Junior National round was dream-like, and standing on that podium had been an out of body experience. What had been a more out of body experience was amongst the people rushing him as he got off the podium, Shiro had been there. 

After Hunk and Lance and Allura had boxed Keith around his helmet and poured champagne on him, Shiro had swept in and grabbed Keith by the waist. Keith had tried to tug his helmet off and Shiro helped him with a great amount of impatience, tossing the helmet to the dirt.

The reveal of Keith’s face to the general public had been quite dramatic— yet not as dramatic as what happened after. Shiro had grabbed Keith by the face and yanked him up till Keith was on his tip-toes, getting the kiss of his life in front of thousands and thousands of people. 

The roar of the crowd grew _ deafening _ and one of his friends crunched a can of Bud light over their heads, dousing them in beer. Shiro had pulled back with a large grin that Keith mirrored, one that has yet to fully fade away.

Keith was on a cloud for the rest of the evening, through his victory lap and through the press junket he had to do afterwards. The main focus of the reporters was the absolutely insane front flip he did with his truck to secure his win, but Keith had gotten a handful of questions about his identity reveal and the kiss that followed. Hunk stepped in and deflected all of the questions expertly, while Lance chirped from the back of the room that they’d been hiding Keith under a helmet because his face wasn’t fit for public consumption.

Keith’s still on a cloud right now— it’s hard not to be. The winner’s banquet isn’t till tomorrow night, after Shiro is inevitably crowned the National Champion. But Shiro had texted him for celebratory dinner plans after his media rounds were done, and Keith had been more than eager. 

He’d showered and gotten into something that might even be deemed nice — a clean pressed plaid shirt and jeans with only one ripped knee — and met Shiro at a coffee shop in between the hotels they were staying at. Shiro had looked him once over and asked him if he was okay taking a later dinner.

There’s no real rhyme or reason as to why they’re in the back of Shiro’s monster truck as opposed to one of their hotel rooms. Keith’s own room is pretty sweet and he doesn’t even have to share it with anyone from his crew this time. But Shiro had the keycard to the warehouse where the trucks were kept, and both of them had gotten inspired. 

Getting it on for the first time in the back of a monster truck might be a rash decision, but in the type of work that they do, rash decisions are all too familiar. The thought of them getting caught does something funny to Keith, something that he likes, and he suddenly finds himself a lot closer than he thought.

Keith slows down a fraction, just to catch his breath and recalibrate. The loose grip Shiro had on him suddenly turns firm. 

“Wh—“ Keith starts, trying to move, but Shiro’s grip is vice-like. He bucks up into Keith, punching the air from his gut instantly.

Shiro slides a muscular forearm across Keith’s front and pulls him back, pinning him against his broad chest. Keith feels the cool metal press of a piercing against his shoulder and it spikes his curiosity till Shiro uses his other hand to grab one of Keith’s to make it wrap around himself.

Satisfied, Shiro goes back to holding on to Keith’s hip with one hand while barring Keith with the other and breathes a hot command into Keith’s ear to touch himself. Keith obeys, Shiro thrusts hard in tandem with an upstroke. Keith’s brain melts straight out of his ears.

Shiro puts a lot of power into the way he moves in Keith and faintly, Keith’s glad there isn’t a question about whether or not this is going to be a one time thing. They had spent a few weeks dancing around each other but now that the dam’s broken it’s a full-on flood, something that Shiro made very clear from the moment he hoisted Keith up into his truck. 

Keith’s glad because if this was a one-time thing, he would be ruined for life.

“Fuck,” Shiro swears and Keith’s hard pressed to disagree. Shiro’s movements turn fast and shallow and Keith jerks himself off faster, trying to catch up.”Oh, baby, fu-_ Keith__— _”

It hits Keith like a bag of bricks. He slaps his free hand over Shiro’s forearm as he comes, digging angry red marks in with his nails. His mouth drops open in a silent cry as Shiro buries his face in the crook of his shoulder, muffling the noises he makes while he follows Keith into completion. 

By the time Shiro finishes riding them out, slowing down to a halt, Keith feels the same out-of-body experience he did when they had announced him and his truck as the winner of the Nationals. His thighs shake and he slumps into Shiro’s arms, trying desperately to even out his breathing.

It’s Keith’s turn to curse, his ribs straining with each breath. The effort of the day as a whole catches up to him fast and he feels like jelly as Shiro slowly lifts him off. Even with protection, they’re both a mess and definitely not fit for public consumption. 

“Careful,” Shiro says as he gently guides Keith into turning back around in his lap so that they can face each other. Keith’s whole body aches in the best way but he still feels a little ginger as he’s planted back down on Shiro’s lap.

It’s nice to see Shiro’s as affected though— he’s a brilliant pink, from the roots of his hair down till his chest, and he’s taking deep breaths through his nose to calm down. Keith likes how he looks like this, flushed and fucked out, and can’t help but lean down for another kiss. 

He goes in trying not to be too eager but Keith feels Shiro press his tongue against the seam of his mouth, and Keith’s not going to be the one to say no to that.

They open up for each other, slow and lazy. Keith cups Shiro’s face, feels the sharp edges of his jaw and his cheekbones under his palms while Shiro curls a hand into his hair. Keith’s hoping that it’s not really a come-down as much as it is just a moment for them to catch their breath.

“You better win tomorrow,” Keith murmurs against Shiro’s mouth. “Want an excuse to do this again.”

“There’s no way I’m _ not _ going to win,” Shiro replies with a grin and much to Keith’s satisfaction, he’s still panting. “So I think we should go back to mine, order some room service, and practice for my victory lap.”

Keith rolls his eyes and shoves at Shiro’s shoulders. “You’re so corny.”

“I’m just being proactive,” Shiro wiggles his eyebrows, smacking his hand lightly against Keith’s ass. With all the seriousness in the world Shiro says, “I could be a lot worse. Keith, how do you feel about sticking your key in my ig-_ mph _!”

There’s only so much Keith can tolerate and somehow, a terrible joke has pushed him over the tipping point. He smacks his palm against Shiro’s mouth to muffle him, trying to not snicker and let on that he actually thinks Shiro’s being funny. 

“Let’s go back to yours,” Keith says, feeling Shiro smile under his palm. “As fun as it is in here, I think my leg’s getting a cramp.”

Shiro nods obediently and licks Keith’s hand. Keith squeezes Shiro’s face further, earning himself a laugh from Shiro as Shiro tries to run his fingers in a feather-light touch over his ribs.

“I’m not ticklish,” Keith replies with a deadpan and Shiro attempts to say something but it’s muffled behind his palm. Keith hums like he was able to understand what Shiro said, and feels a cooled metal palm slide under his thigh. 

It squeezes Keith’s thigh and rubs a circle into the muscle before travelling up to span over his lower back. Keith’s about to ask Shiro what he’s planning to do when Shiro dips his hand in between Keith’s legs to feel for the mess that they’ve made. It sparks something in Keith, something that makes him suddenly feel a lot more impatient.

The look Shiro gives him when he finally moves his hand is brilliant and Keith knows that there’s no way he’s going to make it out in one piece.

**Author's Note:**

> one more niche sports au for the books, phellas... this one was a lot of fun to watch videos about 
> 
> come catch me on [ twitter](https://twitter.com/tagteamme) or [tumblr](https://phaltu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
